Chapter 169 In a Bind
The driver trailing behind, presumably engrossed in the unfolding spectacle, failed to respond promptly and consequently rammed into the rear of Zachary's Bentley.
"What's the matter with your driving? Hitting the brakes so abruptly—I had no time to react!" the driver behind bellowed, thrusting his head out of the window, "Do you think you're superior because you drive a Bentley?"
Zachary paid him no mind and hastened towards the gathering crowd.
The driver hastily retrieved his phone to capture the incident. "Perfect, an abrupt halt, and the man's wearing flip-flops!"
Cursing under his breath, he realized the severity of the situation. That was a Bentley he had hit. A rear-end collision was his responsibility, and insurance wouldn't cover the entire cost. He needed to deflect the blame!
Navigating through the throng, Zachary finally made it to the front. The lake lay tranquil, devoid of any sign of life.
His brow furrowed, he inquired of a nearby woman, "Where’s the person? Has anyone pulled them out?"
"In this freezing cold? Who would dare? She must have frozen, struggled a bit, and then sunk," the woman replied, her hand clutching her chest, "Such a young girl, choosing death for reasons unknown."
Shrugging off his coat, Zachary asked, "Where did she submerge?"
"Over there—look, bubbles are still surfacing!"
Without a moment's hesitation, he dove into the spot the woman had indicated.
The icy water, laden with fragments of ice, engulfed him in its frosty clutches. Zachary opened his eyes and began his descent.
Visibility in the lake was poor; the cold, murky water stung his eyes mercilessly. Blinking against the discomfort, he plunged deeper and finally discerned a hazy figure—a girl, unconscious, her limbs lifeless, her long hair undulating in the water like seaweed.
Zachary was no stranger to physical exertion, but winter swimming was more than a test of fitness—it was a challenge of one's tolerance to the cold, only achievable through consistent training and acclimation to such severe conditions. He had never braved the wild waters, let alone winter swimming. His entire life, he had swam in immaculately chlorinated pools, and when winter arrived, he would retreat to the comfort of indoor facilities.
Gritting his teeth, he seized the girl's flailing wrist and hauled upwards with all his strength. The dive hadn't seemed so deep, yet the ascent felt infinitely longer, the glimmer of daylight far above a distant goal. His arms grew heavy with the effort, still unable to break the surface.
Suddenly, his concentration was shattered as ripples spread from a lifebuoy that had been thrown in. Zachary reached out, grabbed it, and dragged himself and the girl he was rescuing from the icy water. Clinging to the lifebuoy with one hand and the girl's wrist with the other, he shouted, "Got her! Pull us in!"
Emotions surged among the onlookers onshore. Zachary shivered uncontrollably, his b ody chilled to the bone by the icy water and now by the biting wind. Through the fog of his vision and thoughts, he couldn't discern why Winona Sullivan seemed to stand out in the crowd. Yet, there she was, at the forefront, observing him with an inexplicable expression.
With a flurry of activity, they were hauled to the shore. A security guard, holding Zachary’s jacket that he'd discarded on the bank, urged him, "Get out of those wet clothes, put on your jacket. The ambulance hasn't arrived; we can't risk you getting hypothermia."
Zachary lay motionless, his gaze fixed on Winona who was not too far away. As his exhaustion subsided, his sight cleared.
The guard, misinterpreting Zachary's stillness as a symptom of the cold, moved to undress him. However, Zachary held his hand steady on the buttons of his shirt, effectively halting the guard's efforts.
"Come now, get changed," the guard insisted, making another attempt to undress him.
Despite his condition, Zachary possessed enough strength to resist. The guard struggled momentarily before pausing to call for assistance. It was then that Zachary gestured towards Winona, suggesting, "Let her do it."
Winona was momentarily speechless as every eye in the vicinity, save those attending to the unconscious victim, turned to her. Following Zachary’s gaze, the guard quickly handed the jacket to Winona, pleading, "Ma'am, please assist this good Samaritan out of his clothes. The temperature is dropping, and after a plunge in icy water, hypothermia's a real risk."
Looking down at Zachary Bailey, Winona took note of his blue lips, pale skin, and the beads of moisture that clung to him. She inhaled sharply and knelt beside him, instructing, "Get up, let's change your clothes."
Zachary Bailey's voice was weak, a clear sign of his exhaustion, "Can't move. Too tired."
"You seemed to have plenty of strength when you were fighting to keep your shirt on," Winona Sullivan rteased. Nevertheless, she extended her hand to help him rise from the ground.
All eyes were on her.
Zachary Bailey had assumed the role of the good Samaritan who risked his life for others. Winona had noticed enough people recording the scene and sharing it on social media. If he succumbed to hypothermia due to her hesitation, she could already imagine the backlash online.
Holding his arm was akin to grasping a block of ice, causing her to involuntarily recoiled.
Efficiently, Winona removed his soaked shirt, accepted the tissues offered by a sympathetic bystander, and wiped the droplets from his body. She then draped a dry jacket over his shoulders.
Her gaze then fell on his trousers.
Zachary Bailey teased, "That look in your eyes – are you planning to strip my pants off, or do you want me to streak in front of this crowd?"
Winona rolled her eyes, retorting, "Just deal with it for a bit. The ambulance should be here soon."
A bystander kindly offered a bag, suggesting, "I've got a spare pair of pants here; just change the outer layer and keep your current underwear. You don't want to catch a cold in this weather with wet pants."
As Zachary eagerly reached for the bag, Winona was about to decline on his behalf, "Thanks, buddy."
But as soon as he took it, the bag slipped from his numb fingers to the ground. He looked apologetic, admitting, "Sorry, my fingers are frozen stiff. Couldn't hold on."
The good Samaritan quickly dismissed the mishap, while Winona quietly observed Zachary's feigned weakness.
When Zachary looked at her, she showed no mercy, commanding, "Change your pants yourself."
Zachary persisted, shamelessly pleading, "Don't have the strength."
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